


Life Upstairs

by Always_Dreaming



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Heaven, dead riders, the afterlife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7122430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_Dreaming/pseuds/Always_Dreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luis Salom ascends and meets his new friends above <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Upstairs

Luis Salom leant against the barrier at the Barcelona circuit, watching all the activity in front of him. He couldn’t remember the last few minutes but there seemed to have been some kind of crash on the track at turn 12 and all the doctors and marshals were helping a fallen rider, holding up screens to shield him from prying eyes. _Poor guy, I wonder what happened._

There was a thump in the gravel on his right, and then on his left. He looked down to see what had landed there and each side of him stood a pair of white biker boots.

It occurred to him that the boots might be attached to people, so he looked up from the ones on his right. They belonged to a tall man with a mop of curly brown hair, wearing white jeans and a white t-shirt. 

“Hey,” he said.

He looked familiar, his name was…was…but Luis was disorientated and the name slipped out of his mind. He turned to the left, and those boots belonged to a young Japanese man, also in white clothing, who nodded at him and said, “My apologies for interrupting.”

Luis thought he looked familiar too, but couldn’t think of his name. _My memory is so bad, what’s happened to me lately?_

“Hey Shoya, we need to take him quickly, before he sees anything terrible,” said the taller man to his companion.

“Keep calm. But you’re right, this is a nasty one. We need to hit turbo boost,” agreed the other.

Luis felt a firm hand under each of his armpits, the men in white kicked their heels together, then he was being propelled upwards fast, above the track, higher and higher, through the clouds, the stars. He felt the Earth was small and far beneath him now and slipped into sleep, lulled by the sound of strong wings beating.

 

He awoke with a start and found himself sitting in a chair. _What a weird dream that was. Where am I?_ He looked around. He seemed to be in some sort of waiting room. All very white and clean—spotless. _It looks like a hospital, but why am I here and where are my family and friends? My mother?_ He looked down at himself. _I’m wearing white too, but it’s not a hospital gown. What is going on?_

The door at the other end of the room opened and the tall man with the dark curly hair he’d met earlier stood in the doorway.

“Hey Luis,” he said, with a broad smile.

The name clicked into Luis’s mind. “But—but—aren’t you Marco Simoncelli?”

“Yes. I’m pleased to meet you. I’m your guide.”

“But—but aren’t you dead?”

Marco Simoncelli nodded.

“What am I doing here? Does this mean—am I dead too?”

Marco nodded again.

“But where’s my mother?” Luis’s lip trembled. “Where’s my mum? And my family and friends?” 

Suddenly Marco wasn’t in the doorway, he was hugging Luis. _How did he move so fast?_

“They aren’t here yet. But time goes quickly here, they’ll soon be with you.”

Luis burst into tears, but Marco hugged him tightly.

“There, there,” he said. “Everyone gets upset when they first come up here. It’s normal.”

Luis felt great waves of peace and love radiating from the Italian, and relaxed, his tears stopping a little.

“Although, I was angry when I came. Stamping about, wondering why I was here, wasn’t I Shoya?”

“Yes, terrible. We didn’t know what to do with you.” A gentle laugh.

Luis hadn’t realised there was someone else in the room and turned to see the Japanese man from earlier standing smiling at him. Shoya Tomizawa. Of course.

“It is an honour to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand and giving a little bow. Luis shook his hand, and felt another wave of peace, love and calm coming from him. 

“Will I see my mum and family and friends again?” Luis asked them.

“You can see them whenever you want,” said Shoya.

“You can go downstairs and visit them, or do good deeds for people,” said Marco. “We often do that.”

“Or some people play pranks.” Shoya nudged his friend. “Some people act like poltergeists.”

“How dare you? I am NOT a poltergeist.” They both laughed, Luis felt his spirits lift and laughed a little too.

“Now Luis,” said the Japanese rider. “We must take you through to the hall, the others are waiting to meet you.”

“The others?”

“They are all keen to meet you, they—”

“When we were told you were coming, we were so excited,” interrupted Marco. “Every time a new rider or driver comes up here, we have a banquet and a fun race.”

Luis stared at them both.

“Come on.” Marco led him through the door he’d appeared at and Shoya followed.

Luis walked into a big, clean, white hall overlooking a beautiful lake with a view of lush green hills and fields behind it. In the hall stood lots of small tables, where people sat, wearing normal clothes—jeans, trousers, shirts, t-shirts—but they were all white. Some people he recognised, some he didn’t—was that Daijiro Kato? And Jules Bianchi, Maria de Villota, Roland Ratzenberger, Graham Hill, Gilles Villeneuve, Malachi Mitchell-Thomas, Colin McRae, Richard Burns. They were all smiling and some waved at him. The noise of talking was muted and cheerful, not loud and overwhelming as he’d feared.

He sat down at a table with Marco and Shoya, and was served his favourite meal by an angel-faced woman, who fluttered around the tables gracefully. There were several of these beings serving at the tables, Luis couldn’t tell if some of them were male or female, but there was no fuss or bother with them. They did everything right—never angry, never knocking things over, never serving the wrong food.

“This is Daijiro Kato,” said Shoya, and the other Japanese rider nodded and shook Luis’s hand politely.

“Nice to meet you, Luis,” he said. This time, Luis was prepared for the love and peace radiating from another person and smiled.

“What do you do here?” Luis asked Marco as he ate his meal. _I was so hungry! I didn’t realise til now._

“Mostly, we race.” The Italian laughed. “We do what we like. As I said, we often go downstairs to help those in need. That takes up a lot of our time.”

 

After Luis had finished eating, someone banged on a table in the distance and everyone stopped talking and laughing. 

“Good day, everyone,” said a voice, and Luis peered in the direction it came from.

“Is that—?” he whispered to Marco.

“Yes. Ayrton Senna.”

“Wow!”

“We are here to welcome Mr Luis Salom to our residence,” said Ayrton. “We know it can be difficult to adjust to life up here but we all want to help you.”

The other riders and drivers made approving noises.

“Now you reply.” Marco nudged him and he stood up.

“Thank you Mr Senna. I am kind of shocked to be here—” Everyone mumbled in agreement, one shouted out, “we will all help you,” and the others continued making supportive comments. “But I will do my best,” Luis finished, unsure what to say.

“There is one final thing before we can have our race,” said Ayrton.

A way parted between the tables, and Luis gasped. His #39 bike was driving slowly up the gangway towards him. 

“What? What’s happening?” He clutched Marco’s arm. “How is it moving by itself?”

Marco shrugged. “It came up here when you did because it was dead too. Our bikes and cars feel protective of us and feel guilty when we have accidents.”

The bike obviously couldn’t speak but Luis felt its words in his mind. _I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry I hurt you._

“Now you have to reply,” whispered Shoya.

Luis stepped towards his beloved #39. “It’s alright. I’m sorry _I_ couldn’t protect _you._ I took _you_ out racing, remember? Nobody forced me. It’s not your fault.”

The bike sat up straight, and Luis had the feeling it was happy.

“Now,” said Marco. “As I said, when a new rider or driver comes upstairs, we have a fun race. We race in whatever type of vehicle we want, so the new guy doesn’t feel pressured at his first race. We all look forward to these occasions so much.” He gestured outside the other window of the hall, one Luis hadn’t noticed until then. It looked over a track, where the most bizarre collection of vehicles waited. There was a tank, a unicycle, a bubble car, a fire engine, a quad bike, a three wheeled car, a tractor, a rickshaw, a red London bus, a DeLorean, a hover board and many more. He laughed at the sight, and his companions did too.

The plates and cutlery were cleared away by the helpful beings floating round the hall, and Shoya, Daijiro and Marco stood up. They led Luis outside and he took a deep breath of the air, then wished he hadn’t as he got a lungful of exhaust fumes which made him cough. He hadn’t realised the vehicles' engines were running.

“Yes, we can do exactly the same things up here as we can down there—breathe, eat, talk, cough,” laughed Marco. “Come on, let’s go racing.” He held his hand out. Luis took it, then Shoya took his other hand, bringing Daijiro with him and they scampered off together towards the vehicles to start the fun race.

**Author's Note:**

> From the funeral report: Luis liked to play with his mother's long, curly hair. So when he died, she cut all her hair off and placed it in his hands as he lay in his coffin. So he can now play with her hair for eternity. A beautiful gesture :'( <3 <3


End file.
